As she walked up the long hill, she saw her brother standing on the porch, and noted the pallor of his face, the expression of misery in his eyes. At first the boy did not see her—not until she called his name softly.
Teola sank upon the upper step.
"It takes away my breath to climb that hill," she panted, when she could speak. "It grows harder and harder every day."
"I shall be glad when we leave this old cottage," was the boy's moody reply. "I never knew how much I hated the lake until to-day."
Teola did not answer to this, for she knew that she was to blame for that hatred. Frederick was looking at the hut under the willow wofully.
"If anyone had told me what I saw last night," he blurted out, a moment later, "I believe I would have killed him.... I loved her, Teola."
Now she would tell him—send him back to Tessibel with joy in his heart. She sprang up impetuously.
"Frederick," she began quickly, "let me tell—"
But he interrupted her.